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Eponine was in a musical once. At her last show, Enjolras came to watch. At her curtain call, he was the only one who cheered the loudest. So loud that he ended up losing his voice. With the best use of body language, Enjolras proposed. Eponine, with her best use of body language, agreed.
Grantaire never knew it was unrequited love for Enjolras; he was oblivious. Eponine didn't want to admit Marius was in love with Cosette; she was oblivious. But, their unrequited love won't last forever; they were all oblivious than Marius. Modern AU slow burn fic-Enjolras/Eponine, Grantaire/Jehan one-sided-Enjolras/Grantaire, Marius/Eponine
They are kissing in a very passional way, and finally he is making a move. But in an instant he stops and before she can complain, he is giving her a speech about a woman’s honor, reputation and other nonsenses.
“Stop!” She sais in a tone that make him shut up instantly. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I- I am...” It’s maybe the first time he’s lost in words, or is he nervous? “I’m trying to make my intentions clear” She is surprised at first, but then she is as close to him as before.
“I will show you an easy way” Her hands put him down by the collar and his lips crash hers with more passion and intensity. “Did I make my intentions clear to you?” She ask with a charming smile.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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a/n: oh god i'm finally getting around to the fic prompts in my inbox...... it's been 84 years but I'M HERE (and naturally the first prompt i get to is smut. how very in character for me)
prompt taken from this list, i decided to go with f11 (i tried to figure out how to work them both into the same fic, but i couldn't really think of anything so here we go!)
this is the first time i've written straight up smut in a WHILE, and WOW i am rusty. nevertheless i hope it lives up to your expectations ^_^
set in the inthaf verse if you squint, but it can be read as a standalone piece
also here on ao3
smut under the cut *winky face*
Éponine quirks an eyebrow as she watches Enjolras lock the door to her dressing room, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. “What is it you plan on doing in here, exactly?” she questions. “You know, for you to go as far as locking the damn door and everything.”
The wicked smirk he gives her when he turns back around to face her sends a jolt through the very marrow of her bones, and involuntarily, she shivers. He sweeps her into his arms, teasing, “I don’t know. You tell me.”
She sighs and cups his face, standing on tiptoe to press her lips to his. A soft moan escapes the back of her throat as he readily kisses her back, a large hand sliding up her back to caress her immaculately coiffed hair. Upon pulling away from him, she glances over his shoulder. The thick door mutes the blaring music somewhat. “Won’t they miss us?”
He shrugs, pulling her back in. “It’s our wedding. Besides, I’m sure most of them are too smashed to notice us being gone for some time.”
“Is that so?” She smiles, toying with the lapel of his suit jacket. “And pray tell, how much champagne have you had to drink?”
“Enough for me to think this is a good idea,” he responds, a look of utmost certainty in his blue eyes.
Éponine laughs out loud only to be silenced by his lips capturing hers, hungry, ravenous. Enjolras grins against her mouth at how that draws another moan out of her, the pair of them stumbling blindly around her dressing room until she falls back against a sofa with a little yelp. He breaks away, his eyes meeting hers. Her pupils are blown, a flush on her cheeks, lips slightly swollen. He smiles.
“Sit down,” he commands softly, and she obliges, waiting to see what he’ll do next. His smile morphs into something of a smirk when he gets down on his knees, slowly, taking off her kitten heels before slowly pushing up the hem of her wedding dress. Only now does she notice the full-length mirror across from the sofa. She shivers again.
Enjolras pauses, running his fingers along the length of her leg, feeling how smooth it is. “You shaved,” he observes, almost inanely.
“Waxed, actually,” Éponine corrects, and he looks up to see a dazzling grin, dimples in her cheeks. “And, uh, it’s not just my legs. If you catch my drift.” Her attempt at a flirtatious wink is nearly enough to draw a snort out of him.
“Did you, now?” He kisses her knee. “You didn’t have to, you know. I like your body hair.”
“Aww, that’s sweet, babe.” She’s giggling now. “But I wanted to put in some effort for our wedding day.”
“Why, that’s very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Enjolras.” Her cheeks grow hot at the reminder of their newly wed status, still a bit unable to wrap her head around the fact that they’re married now. He’s her husband. She’s his wife.
He parts her legs just slightly, catching a glimpse of a lacy little thing in his favourite shade of crimson. Intrigued, he pulls it down her legs, holding it up to really get a good look at it. “I’ve never seen this one before,” he notes.
“You really think I wouldn’t have bought new lingerie for our wedding? Please.” She laughs wryly. “That thong has been riding up my ass all day. God, the things I do for love…”
At that, Enjolras really does laugh, a fond look in his blue eyes. “Oh, I love you.”
Éponine smiles, a little squeak escaping her when he presses a kiss to her inner thigh, pushing her legs further apart as he does so and practically disappearing under her skirts. Her breath catches in her throat as he moves closer and closer to where she needs him most. “What if someone hears us?” she asks, her voice unsteady.
He resurfaces to look at her, eyebrows raised. “‘Us’?” He smirks rather lasciviously. “I don’t think any of our guests will be able to hear anything over the music. And besides, even if they do, they’re probably too hammered at this point to remember it tomorrow morning.”
Without waiting for a response, he dives back under her dress, pausing mere millimetres from her folds, warm breaths ghosting over her. The high-pitched noise that comes out of her mouth would be cause for embarrassment were she a bit more sober.
The mirror across from them allows her a full view of themselves, her cheeks flushed red and him half hidden under her wedding dress. For once, he wastes no time with teasing her mercilessly, trying to find out what her limit will be this time. Upon feeling him press his face between her legs, taking her clit into his mouth and sensually sucking it, she cries out, the rest of the world seeming to fall away. She feels rather than hears his soft hums and moans as his tongue dances between her legs, flicking at her clit, driving her insane. She grabs onto one of the couch cushions for lack of a better grip, breaths coming in short and shallow. A look in the mirror tells her exactly how much of a mess he’s reduced her to in mere minutes.
“Oh, my God—” She barely bites back a shriek when he picks up the pace, grasping her thighs to hold her in place, his curls tickling the sensitive skin. Her skirts muffle the small chuckle he lets out, warm tongue continuing to lap at her, licking, sucking, teasing. His hands slide down the length of her legs to move them over his shoulders, face remaining firmly buried between her thighs. She whines, breathless. “Fuck, yes—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—”
She’s incoherent, stars dancing behind her eyes as her grip on the couch cushions tightens, her moans a plea—no, a demand for him not to stop. It’s all she can do not to scream, keeping in mind the people just a room away. Dancing. At their wedding reception. She throws her head back and mewls, skirting so close to the edge. So close to perfection.
Her vision growing more and more hazy, the building pressure below her navel becomes too much, and with a well-practised flick of his tongue, she explodes with a cry, her entire body going slack. She shudders at how he keeps going for a little while longer, legs still trembling by the time he emerges from under her dress, lips and cheeks rather slick with her wetness.
“Fucking hell,” she breathes out, chest heaving as she begins to drift back down to earth.
A smug grin breaks out across his face. “Liked that, didn’t you?”
She just lets loose a breathless laugh, rolling her eyes. God, the things his tongue just did couldn’t be legal. “Jesus, you really are drunk.”
“Am not.” There’s a petulant edge to his tone as he gets to his feet, taking off his suit jacket to throw onto a nearby armchair. “I think of it as more… delightfully tipsy.”
“Oh, you’re definitely drunk,” she teases, nearly losing balance as she stands back up, her legs are so wobbly. “It’s not like you to speak… not in complete sentences. And what the fuck is ‘delightfully tipsy’ supposed to even mean?”
He merely quirks an eyebrow and smirks, drawing another laugh out of her. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her through the mirror as he wipes his face clean with a Kleenex, watches as she stumbles over to the bag full of God knows what that she brought along that morning while getting ready for the wedding, sitting on the ground just next to the vanity.
“Aha!” He turns around just as she takes something out. He raises an eyebrow when she dangles it in front of him, an amused smile playing at his lips.
“Condoms?” he questions, sauntering over to her and looping an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his chest. “Why, Mrs. Enjolras, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were expecting this.”
“Oh, please.” She feigns a scoff and rolls her eyes, a mischievous grin carving dimples into her cheeks. “Maybe I just like to be prepared.”
He scrunches up his face as his free hand reaches up to tuck some hair behind her ear. “Nina, you have hardly ever been prepared for anything in our lives in all the time I’ve known you.”
She sniffs, lithe arms snaking around his neck. “Maybe you just haven’t known me for that long, then.”
The droll look he gives her sends her into a fit of giggles, only to be silenced by him pulling her close and capturing her lips with his, kissing her hard. This time, she makes no attempt to disguise her moan, arms falling from around his neck, hands going to blindly undo his belt buckle. She smirks against his lips upon feeling how he’s straining quite a bit against the crotch of his pants, no doubt aching for release. A guttural groan sounds from the back of his throat. He pulls away just slightly, his face inches from hers.
“Christ, Nina,” he mutters, his breathing becoming rather ragged.
The deceptively sweet smile that graces her face is downright obscene as he feels her small hand grab him through his pants. Her words come out in a seductive purr. “Does that feel good, Gabriel?”
“I, well—ah…” He shudders as she starts stroking him, feeling as if all the blood in his head rushes south.
She watches his face intently for his reactions, grinning at how he grows harder in her hand. She undoes his belt, her grin morphing into a smirk at the gasp that he lets out when her hand slides down into his boxer briefs. He groans. It’s all he can do to control himself.
She tugs his pants a bit further down along with his boxer briefs, freeing him. Just when she appears ready to drop to her knees, he stops her. “Nina, wait.”
She frowns and looks back up to meet his eyes. “What?”
“You don’t have to do… that… right now.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
A raised eyebrow. “Is the great Gabriel Enjolras turning down a blowjob?” She laughs. “Jesus, you really are like no other man I’ve ever met. I want to do it, babe.”
“I know you do. Trust me, I want it. But it’s just—” He gestures vaguely, searching for the words to articulate his thoughts. “I don’t want you to ruin your dress when you spent so much money on it.”
She pauses, simply staring at him for what feels like a few moments too long. Then she laughs. “Well, alright, then.” She grins and loops her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to nuzzle her nose against his. “How did I manage to land such a considerate guy as my husband?”
He reaches around her for the strip of condoms on the vanity, tearing one off and ripping the wrapper open with his teeth. Éponine lets out a little growl. “Gimme that.”
Enjolras obliges, breath catching in his throat when she rolls it onto his hardened length, a small groan escaping him. A look of mild confusion crosses his face when she then turns around and braces herself against the vanity, looking at him through the mirror, expectant. When all he does is raise his eyebrows questioningly, she sighs. “I want you to fuck me from behind, Gabriel. It’s not like we’ve never done this before.” She laughs under her breath. “Jesus.”
“Oh—well, I—” He wastes no time in pushing her skirts up, positioning himself. A shaky little whine escapes her at how the tip of his cock brushes against her clit. He pushes into her, slowly, steadily, groaning at the tight warmth that engulfs him. “Fuck, you’re so wet…”
She moans at the sensation of his cock stretching her, filling her. He leans forward to brush her hair all to one side and kiss the crook of her neck, hiding his smirk as he buries himself inside her to the hilt. A gasp falls from her lips once he’s fully inside her, throbbing, aching for release.
“Oh, my God,” she manages to choke out.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, planting a kiss on her shoulder. “Or did you want me to move, too?”
She growls and pushes back against him once, one hand reaching up to grab at his hair. He takes the hint, hips bucking forward and drawing a cry from her. Somewhat self-conscious at being able to see themselves in the mirror, she throws her head back, only for him to grab her chin and turn her head back towards their reflection. “Watch,” he murmurs breathlessly.
An obscene sound spills from her lips as he pounds into her, one hand reaching under her skirt to rub her clit as the other palms at her breast through her wedding dress. She rolls his hips back to meet him, face flushed scarlet. “God,” he gasps out. “I love your breasts.”
She snorts. “Jesus Christ, just say tits like a regular person—” A well-angled thrust cuts her off mid-sentence, her words drowned out by a loud moan. “God, yes, just like that—”
He picks up the pace even more, making her cry out as she struggles to match his rhythm. “You know,” he pants, kissing her neck, “when I thought about our first time as a married couple, I wasn’t expecting it to be in your dressing room. During the reception.”
“Oh, shut up and fuck me.” She pushes back hard against him, unable to concentrate on anything but the building pressure between her legs, so close she can almost taste it. Her moans morph into choked cries as he slams into her, abandoning all pretence at gentleness in favour of making her come. Through the mirror, she vaguely notices the small beads of sweat dotting her forehead as her grip on his curls tightens, desperate, moaning and begging and pleading for him not to stop. Anyone who happens to pass by outside her dressing room could probably hear them, but right now, neither of them can find it in themselves to care.
She cries out at the sensation of his thumb rubbing circles into her clit as he thrusts into her relentlessly, his cock roughly grinding against her walls. He looks up from his assault on her neck to watch themselves in the mirror and it’s all he can do not to lose control at the sight that greets him. He groans and slams hard into her, the sight of her mouth hanging open in pure bliss nearly too much to handle. “Fuck, Nina—”
“Gabriel,” she whimpers, her breathing erratic. The pressure soon becomes too much as she begs and pleads incoherently, until her voice breaks and her orgasm crashes over her, knocking the breath out of her. She comes hard with a cry, shuddering, clenching around him, thighs twitching, trembling. He fucks her hard and fast through the aftershocks, and by the time he comes soon after her, sinking his teeth into her shoulder, she’s almost sobbing, whether from mindless pleasure or sensory overload or some combination of the two, she can’t be sure.
He finishes inside her with a strangled groan, hips jerking forward once more before he drops his head onto her shoulder, panting, struggling to regulate his breathing. She whines at the pulsating between her thighs, legs nearly giving out under her. They stay there like that for a while, Éponine gazing at themselves in the mirror as Enjolras buries his face in her neck.
The thumping music next door soon snaps them back to reality, and she whimpers when he pulls out of her, discarding the condom in the wastebasket by the mirror. She stumbles and grabs onto the vanity table, barely able to stand upright. A small self-satisfied smile plays at his lips at the sight as he pulls his pants back up, buckling his belt.
She grabs her thong off the sofa and manages to put it back on, her skirts falling back into place afterward. Her legs tremble as she slides her feet back into her shoes, collapsing onto the sofa to catch her breath. He takes a seat next to her, sliding an arm around her shoulders.
“Should we go back out?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her temple before she lays her head on his shoulder.
She hums softly, shaking her head. “Not yet. Let’s stay here a little while longer.” A low whistle escapes her, and she laughs. “Never thought you had it in you to fuck someplace so… public.”
He chuckles wryly. “I wouldn’t think of your dressing room at a wedding venue as a public place.”
She swats at his arm. As if on cue, they hear a whoop and holler from the ballroom, muted just so by the door. Probably Grantaire on his umpteenth drink, from the sound of it. “You know what I mean, jackass.”
He laughs and kisses the top of her head as she snuggles closer to him. “You know, I hope that wasn’t it from you,” she says.
“Oh, no.” He flashes her a playful smirk. “Definitely not. Once we get home, we aren’t stopping until neither of us can move.” He trails his fingers along her arm, murmuring, “And I believe you promised me a… blowjob, was it?”
She laughs and pulls him in for a kiss. “You know it, babe.”
